Entropy
by IseeButterfly
Summary: Everything in an isolated system strives for the maximum level of disorder. The evolution of Raphael's attraction to a special Daughter of Men in his life and the progression of his downfall. Rated M for mature content in future chapters and language. Fluff and smut!
1. 1

**Everything in an isolated system strives for the maximum level of disorder. **

**The evolution of Raphael's sexual attraction to a special daughter of men in his life and the progression of his downfall.  
Rated M for mature content in later chapters. **

* * *

She is wearing that red dress again.

Water drips from her wet hair onto the scarlet cloth, staining the fabric dark, goosebumps spreading over her neck and arms. She has left the pantyhose and shoes in the corner and her legs are completely bare. There is nothing on her but that little piece of red fabric.

Raffe pulls his eyes from her as she enthusiastically digs into her meal. Looking at her is difficult. He needs to focus, now especially. The daughters of men have never been a distraction for him and they wouldn't be now. He won't allow it.

"Please don't wait up for me," he says, though he doesn't think she would, anyway. The girl is so starved, she doesn't seem to get the food in fast enough. He feels a twinge of guilt. Before his kind came into her world, he's sure she had plenty of food.

He shakes the thought off. Humans let their own kind starve to death, while throwing away precious food on a daily basis, and here he is, feeling guilty for them. He needs to clear his head. Get his life back on track. He would get back his wings, settle things with his kind and be done with this human business. The sooner he got away from that fragile, stubborn, distracting girl, the better.

* * *

He never knew she had it in her.

Muscles tensing, face hardening, she crouches low and evades the attacking angel, swiftly stabbing her knife where it hurts the most. Clever girl. She knows she can't kill with that. But she can harm. And she chose the best spot to do that.

The angel rolls around on the ground, clutching his crotch. Half a minute and this scrawny girl reduced this otherworldly warrior to a pathetic worm.  
Raffe feels something tug on his heart, swelling in his chest, and he almost calls it pride. But no, that's not the right word. He doesn't have any right to be proud of her. She's not his. He merely approves of her fighting techniques, like a fellow warrior acknowledges an equal. Rationally, it seems silly to think so about a daughter of men, but given the circumstances, Raffe can't bring himself to feel wrong about it.

The wind is blowing up her dress around her thighs, reminding him instantly of the fact that she is wearing – yet again – nothing but a flimsy piece of fabric, clinging to her little form in all the places his eyes shouldn't rest.

She slips the knife into her thigh-highs, drawing his eyes to the exposed skin. Despite the violence and destruction around him, Raffe feels dizzy for a moment as his blood surges in his veins.

It's all too much. Moments ago, he still thought she was dead. Here she is, flooding his head with all those big emotions, he didn't know such a small person could make him feel. Overwhelming happiness. Confusion. Relief. Lust.

He grabs her around the waist – the dizziness is back for a second – and lifts her up into his arms, clutching her to his chest. She wraps her arms around his neck and snuggles closer, her body pressing against his. He feels oddly whole, as if a missing piece inside of him slipped back into place.  
"Don't let me go," he says, and means it.

* * *

Once he started, it all came out in a rush of emotions, first in the form of weak laughter and then in silent sobs against her neck. Raffe is too exhausted to care. For all the time he held back and masked his feelings, he allows himself this one moment of weakness. He wouldn't have the strength to pull away now, anyway.

So he clutches her to him, almost crushing her with the force of his embrace, and buries his face into the nape of her neck, letting her closeness drown out the agony of these past weeks.

His mourning, the guilt, the hatred. Right now it doesn't matter.

She is here, in his arms, all warm skin and sand and silky fabric, and he can fool himself with the illusion that this will last, that she will always be with him. _His._  
Her scent envelopes him, light and fresh in a way only a living person can smell. He breathes her in, his arms tightening around her even more and her fingers travel up into his hair, soothing him gently.  
She is saying something to him, but the words don't register, and they don't need to, for the sound of her voice is enough.

Raffe always thought the phrase 'to never want to let someone go' was cheesy, but it's exactly what he feels right now.

Through the layers of clothing separating them, he feels her heart beat against his chest, strong and steady and _alive_, and it's the single most amazing thing he has ever felt.

* * *

"I'm sure a respectable, modern man would turn his back so he wouldn't see if there was a slip-up."

She nods at him, giving him a stern look that is mildened by the blanket in between her teeth. She struggles under the cover of the blanket, trying to wiggle out of the wet dress she wore at the aery.

Raffe can't help the grin that's tugging on his lips. "But we'd lose our heat shelter."

She is rolling her eyes and he feels giddy with happiness. It's completely irrational that such a small action should call forth such a feeling, but it's so mundane, and so very _her_. It helps him grasp onto the fact that she's really here, alive and breathing and well enough to be annoyed.

"Don't laugh or anything," he continues, teasing her, "because that could be disastrous."

Absolutely disastrous.

She's trying to glare at him, while still biting onto the overlapping ends of the blanket, and the giddiness is bubbling up inside of him warm and pleasant. God, he missed her.

"Have you heard that joke about-"

She's had enough. A ripping sound from beneath her blanket and a second later her ruined dress lands on top of his pants. He actually laughs out loud at that, something he hasn't done in a long time. He doesn't remember when he last felt this happy.  
He chuckles and teases her and she shoots right back with a sharp tongue and a twinkle in her eyes . Now that the warmth returns to her body, there is a healthy blush on her cheeks and her movements become less stiff. It's easier to talk about what happened the last time he was with her when she's like this. When she looks so radiant and alive and healthy.

"I wasn't saying you were heartbroken…," she is stammering, clearly trying to talk herself out of the situation to no avail. He decides not to say anything. He doesn't want to think about that night and there's nothing he can say to her.

Her words splutter.

He watches as heat flushes up her neck and cheeks, tinting them red, and suddenly he's aware of the fact that she's completely naked underneath that blanket.

Raffe tries to focus on her words, but a part of his mind stays on this newest, unwanted thought, making his blood boil.

"I just mean it was hard for me to … to watch."

She fiddles with the blanket uncomfortably, shifting in her seat nervously, and for a second, the blanket inches down just a bit, revealing a sliver of her skin.  
He doesn't want to look, he really doesn't, but he can't help himself. His eyes roam the soft skin of her throat and cleavage, the curve of her collarbone and just the beginning of the swell of her left breast, before she adjusts the blanket absentmindedly, not even noticing her slip-up.

He feels the world lurch around him and his blood rushes south, dictating his line of thoughts for a few unguarded moments.  
It would be so easy. He could just pull that thing off her and take her. Right here. He's almost sure she'd let him. She wants him, too. He recalls the way she gasped into his mouth, when he kissed her that night at the aery, and his loins ache at the memory.

"Well, okay, maybe you did seem just a _little_ bit heartbroken."

The last word rips him out of his thoughts.

She already looks like she regrets saying it, clutching the blanket around her like she wants to hide behind it. Raffe notices that she's shivering from the cold. His thoughts sober.

She's just a little girl. Innocent and young and probably deeply disturbed from the massacre she just witnessed. And yet, she trusts him enough to sit here with him, one of the kind that just brutally murdered every other human around her, defenseless and naked, but for a thin blanket around her, and all he does is fantasize about her like all the other blood-crazed angels. Guilt nags on him.

"You're shivering," he says lowly. "Take a shower. Maybe we'll be lucky and there will be hot water."

Raffe wonders if he should say more. Take her into his arms and hold her. But he doubts it'd be a good idea in his current state. So he gets up and turns away from her. He needs to get her out of his sight.

He bows his head and presses his eyes shut, disappearing into the darkness of the house. Away from the fire, the air cools his skin and helps him clear his thoughts.

Behind him, he hears Penryn get up slowly and shuffle out of the living room.

He should get the house ready for the night. Cover up the windows and slits. Search for supplies and food. He focuses on those simple tasks to keep his mind from wandering.

His hearing is well enough for him to pick up the sound of a blanket falling to the floor over the hiss of the shower. He pushes down the image that the sound evokes.

It is going to be a long night.

* * *

**There will be more, don't worry. There's a reason this story is M-rated, but I'm not just giving you sole smut. Reviews are greatly appreciated and motivate to keep writing!**

Hope you enjoyed,

**~K.**


	2. 2

~2~

"Who cares about the rules? It's the end of the world, remember?"

She looks at him with defiance in her eyes, daring him to disagree with her, and Raffe is oddly pleased by the rebellious spark inside of her. She's stubborn. Like him.

"Rules are important to us. Angels are a warrior race."

"I noticed. But what does that have to do with it?"

He explains to her, but the words are hollow, unconvincing. He wonders if he's started doubting them himself.

The damn girl leans closer, clouding his mind with her proximity, and he can't help but think that it would only take an inch to close the gap between them. To taste her.

"We're really scary, aren't we?" She's referring to herself and the other Daughters of Men, and Raffe couldn't agree more.

His eyes dart down to her lips for a short moment before he can stop himself, remembering her taste and the push of her velvet tongue against his, before he manages to refocus his thoughts on the now.

"Daughters of Men are truly dangerous. Not to mention truly annoying. In a yappy, occasionally cute kind of way."

She leans back, a little frown appearing on her forehead, being the very example of cute annoying.  
After he explains a few rules of his world, she sighs and rubs her forehead, as if her head is hurting from the load of information. "Your world is so different from mine. Do you guys have anything in common with humans?"

He looks down at her and thinks about his longing for her, the almost primeval desire that she arouses in him, and how much she weakens and distracts him.

_Yes. _"Nothing we'll admit to."

"There's no way around it, is there?" Her voice sounds sad, resigned. "We're mortal enemies and I should be trying to kill you and everyone like you."

The urge to touch her, to be close to her, grips him so sudden and painful that he doesn't have the will to resist. He leans forward and touches his forehead to hers, closing his eyes against the feeling of loss that overcomes him. This is all there is. All that ever can be.

"Yes."

* * *

He never knew human food could taste so good. After living on animal food and half-rotten leftovers for weeks, the peanut butter and raisin bran taste like ambrosia.

She is clearly enjoying the treat too, crunching on handfuls of cereal like an adorable, little hamster, her eyes closing blissfully at the taste. He isn't sure why she enjoys the cereals so much, as the peanut butter tastes much better on its own in his eyes, but he's not complaining. It's not a proper meal, but he's happy that he can provide her with tasteful food for a change.

Okay, if she leaves her cereal all in the peanut butter, he _is _complaining. He puts the jar away and she immediately claims it for herself, dipping her fingers in eagerly.

"Can we please just get back to how your people are partying over killing my people?"

She licks a bit of peanut butter off her fingers.

"They're celebrating the possibility of freeing their friends."

She puckers her lips around her index finger and _sucks, _her cheeks hollowing out in the process.  
A pang of lust zips through his body. He swallows and shifts in his seat, trying to avoid the arousal from messing with his mind.  
He glares at her, irrationally upset with her for being so goddamn tempting. So unbelievable seductive.

He dips cereal into the peanut butter, forcing her to go back to the much less dangerous chewing before she can lick up the peanut butter again. It helps to not having to see her do that anymore, but his lust has already been roused and it's difficult to keep the fantasies at bay.

"The system is purposefully harsh to keep everyone in line. It's what keeps our warrior society together."

And it's why he can't fall apart. Why he must get a grip on himself. She is fire and he has no intent to burn.

"And if their judged guilty?"

Her voice is innocent, curious, like she isn't aware at all of the trouble she's causing him. Raffe is incredulous of how unaware she is of her own attractiveness.

She looks at a dab of peanut butter on the tip of her finger and he's bracing himself for the worst, but it doesn't do him any good. Her pink tongue darts out, licking at the top of her finger, her eyes closing in bliss as she savors the taste.

He gets up so abruptly, he almost tips over the chair. It's all he can do to restrain from grabbing her and ravishing her. His heart is hammering in his chest.

"Then eternity gets longer. " His voice sounds thick to his own ears. Aroused.

He starts pacing, putting as much distance between him and the girl as possible, desperate to keep his thoughts from wandering off, but it's already too late. He can't push down the arousal, can't push down the fantasies. He thinks about her finger in her mouth. Thinks about _his _finger in her mouth. Thinks about her lips around his cock.

Shit.

He's so incredibly turned on. So pent up. He could cut glass with his hard-on.

He forces his breath out in a controlled exhale, intending to calm his racing heart, but it does nothing to ease his troubled mind. "Let's go find my sword."

While she searches the house for warmer clothes, he quickly adjusts himself, scolding himself silently for the slip-up. He won't allow this again. He is an archangel and known for his extraordinary self-control. Especially when it comes to women.  
He has always been better at keeping himself in check than most of his warriors and one skinny, little girl wouldn't change all that. No one had ever been able to break his willpower, and she wouldn't be the first to accomplish that.

* * *

The Locusts whirl around them, creating wind that blows the girl's hair all around her head, but she's unaware of it, fast asleep.

She fell asleep about an hour ago, after the exhaustion and post-fight adrenaline drop caught up with her. She fought it, Raffe noticed, unwilling to surrender to such a vulnerable state while surrounded by scorpion-like monsters, but after a couple of hours of flying, her eyes just fell close and her breathing evened.

She is nestled against his chest, slightly turned toward him with her face half buried in his shirt and one of her hands fisting the fabric, and the sight makes his chest ache.

He always considered human, the Daughters of Men especially, to be strange-looking at best, if not rough and coarse compared to the grace of angels, but she looks as dainty and delicate as a doll.

That is, if you ignore the blood splattered across the front of her shirt.

The blood.

She killed an angel. One of Uriel's gofers, so good riddance, but the sight of it still shocked him. He's pretty sure that she's the first human to ever have killed an angel in combat. His arms involuntarily tighten around her.

The scorpions dip down suddenly, following Paige's lead, and Raffe follows them to the ground. They have landed at the outer edge of the forest, near a small cottage, mostly-intact looking.

She stirs in his arms as his feet touch the ground and he thinks she'll wake, but then she just nuzzles into his chest more. He wishes he could let her sleep, give her a rest after all the things she endured, but he needs to check the cabin properly and he can't do that with her in his arms. More importantly, he can't fight with her in his arms, should the situation call for it.

"Hey," he whispers, and the soft, almost crooning quality of his voice surprises him. "Time to wake up."

She stirs again, her eyelids fluttering, taking only a moment to orient herself, before she jolts awake, instantly alert. He supposes it's a habit she picked up after things got drastic on earth. No time to gently shake sleep off, when you're living in constant danger.

She seems to notice that she's still in his arms, because she suddenly looks awkward. He gently lets her down.

"How long was I out?"

"Just about an hour. Let's check that cabin over there and if it's serviceable, we should rest for the night."

She nods and looks over to her sister, who is climbing down from the Locusts she's been sitting on.

"What about _him_?" She asks, her voice thickening with disgust.

He considers their possibilities for a moment. "Fake Locusts or not, he shouldn't wake up anytime soon. And if he does, I'll doubt he ever fully recovers. Should be save to bring him in and secure him. If he wakes up, I can squeeze him for information. "

She nods again, but he can tell from the look in her eyes that she doesn't like the thought of sleeping under a roof with him.

"Paige, sweetie? Are you coming?"

The girl looks up at the sound of her name, then slowly shakes her head. Her older sister seems stricken. "What? But why not?"

Paige's eyes dart to the forest. In a small voice, she whispers. "Hungry."

"Oh. _Oh!_ You want to go hunting?"

Paige hesitates, then nods.

"Have you ever hunted before?"

Again a nod, like a motion of defeat.

"Okay, well, then you should probably do that. Yeah, I think that's a good idea. But stay close to the cabin, and if anything happens, call out for us immediately, okay?"

Raffe is impressed by how well she handles herself given the circumstances. She's steeling herself, adjusting to the situation. She's cut like a survivor.

They watch Paige disappear into the forest, the swarm of scorpions following after her like giant flies, leaving a shriveled and nearly unrecognizable Beliel on the ground.

Raffe drags him into the cabin, which turns out to be save and still in a pretty good shape, where they use hiking robes and a metal chain to tie him to the stairs in the basement.  
It's a miracle this thing even has a basement, as the cabin is pretty small and plain. Besides the kitchen and the bathroom, there is only a living room with an extensible studio couch.

There is still plenty of tinned food in the kitchen, probably because the cabin is so desolated that no one stumbled across it to raid it, but neither of them feels like eating, too exhausted from the fight at the aery, followed by an hours long flight.

Raffe showers first, watching the blood on him disappear down the drain. The water is cold, but his body has an excellent regulation system, so he isn't bothered by it.

He wraps a towel around his hips, not having brought any clean clothes with him to the bathroom, and heads out into the living room.

She is already waiting on the other side, a pile of clean clothes from the drawer in the back of the room clutched to her chest. She stares at him, quickly taking in his near-nakedness, and her face heats up.

"Oh, um… is the bathroom free?"

He decides not to tease her about it. It's been a long day and he thinks bantering her about his almost nudity while she's clearly uncomfortable about it is pretty obnoxious anyway.

He rummages through the drawer, while she showers, searching for fitting clothes. Luckily, whoever owns this place must've been a pretty tall dude, because the clothes are roughly his size.

He's set up the studio couch – they'll have to share it for the night – when she comes out of the bathroom, wearing a shirt three times too big for her, over equally miss-sized sweatpants.

Her dark hair is wet and curls around her face, dripping onto her shirt. Her face looks soft and clean and she looks small and young, or to be precise, even younger, in the huge clothes.

She switches off the light before climbing onto the couch herself. It's just big enough for both of them, but they are close, almost touching. There's something strangely intimate about her laying down beside him and his heartbeat quickens. There's a wool blanket hanging over the arm rest on her side of the couch. She takes it off and offers it awkwardly to him.

Raffe waves her off. "It's alright, I don't get cold. You need it more."

"Are you sure?"

A part of him wants to take the offer, yearns to slide in under the blanket with her, if only to feel the warmth radiating off her body better, but that is a dark part of him, the worst part, so he pushes it down.

"Absolutely. Now sleep. It's been a long day."

She huffs and throws the blanket over herself, wrapping herself completely in it.

They lie next to each other on their backs in silence. Raffe throws her a look and chuckles.

"You look like a burrito, all wrapped up in that blanket."

She looks surprised at his light tone and turns to him, eyes warming.

"An angel that knows about burritos. Interesting."

He grins at her and she responds with a cheeky smile of her own, a small dimple appearing on her left cheek. Their smiles fade as the air grows heavy with all the things unsaid between them. Their eyes meet and a moment of understanding passes between them, a link-up of thoughts without words.

"Are you sure you don't want a bit of the blanket, too?" Her voice is low, almost a whisper, her eyes casting away.

Raffe doesn't respond. For a moment, he almost thinks he can refuse, certain that he can resist the prospect of having a warm body to hold during the night, but the second her eyes dart back to his, his resolve fades away.

Without a word, he grabs the edge of the blanket she offers and tugs her close, covering them both with it.

* * *

In the middle of the night, he wakes up, not startled or disturbed by anything, but simply wakes, disoriented at first as he emerges from a dreamless sleep.

Soft hair tickles his face and a distant scent of shampoo and something else, something that evokes a familiar flutter in his stomach, surrounds him. He becomes aware of the girl he is holding in his arms.

He is surprised at how tightly he clutches her to him, as he has no memory of taking her into his arms before he fell asleep. It's disturbing – no alarming – how much his subconsciousness seems to yearn for her closeness.

Her head is against his shoulder, nose brushing his pulse point, and it's so innocent and in a way so very _her_, that his throat constricts. Gently, he untangles her arms from his torso and sits up, scooting to the edge of the couch.

Raffe runs a hand over his face and through his hair. He tries not to look down at her, but his eyes are drawn to her, roaming the lines of her face, the slope of her eyebrows, her soft lips slightly parted, forming a sweet, little 'O'.

She's rolled over a bit, half on her stomach, one arm curling under her head and the other resting next to her, hand loosely grabbing the sheets.  
His eyes follow the curve of her body under the thin blanket, encouraged by the darkness of the night and the seclusion of their location. Never could he look at her like that, really look at her, at day, when she is awake and there are other eyes watching them. But they are completely alone in this remote cabin, no hellhounds or angels within miles, and for all his resisting and holding back, he allows himself this minor slip. He isn't doing anything but looking, after all.

The blanket is thin enough to show the lines of her body, the hollow of her lower back, the curve of her butt. Her dark hair is fanned out on the pillow, some of it falling over her face, and before he knows it, he is reaching out and brushes it back, gently tucking the soft strands behind her ear.

His eyes travel over her lips, chin and throat, and then his fingers do, too, just barely grazing her skin, feeling her softness under calloused fingertips. A sigh escapes the sleeping girl, the _human_ girl, as he strokes her face with more tenderness than he thought himself capable of . His hand reaches her shoulderblades and a few fingers become the full palm, brushing slowly down the delicious arch of her back before coming to rest on her low back.

For a moment, he struggles with his need, so overcome by it that his self-control almost crumbles. He snatches his hand away and presses his eyes shut.  
His breathing is coming out faster than normal, his pulse roaring in his ears. Looking at her sprawled across bedsheets, lying in bed with her, is too close to that part of his mind for him to deal with.

Still, he takes the time to adjust the blanket around her, tucking her in carefully, before he gets up.

Now that his heartbeat has calmed and the buzzing in his ears has ebbed away, he hears the humming sound coming from outside the cabin.

He steps to a window and draws back the curtains to survey the scene before him.

Paige is sitting outside, with her back turned towards him, looking up at the moon. If his eyesight wasn't as supreme as it is, he would've missed the blood coating her hands and forearms.  
He leans his forehead against the pane, letting the glass cool his skin.

Outside, the Locust swarm whirls around Paige.

* * *

**I think things are going to heat up around next chapter...  
Please let me know what you think! **

**Hope you enjoyed!  
**

**~ K.**


	3. 3

**I have answered one particular review at great length at the bottom of this page, so that's the reason why the A.N section of this chapter is so long. It's just something that I really wanted to discuss and I couldn't do it in shorter words. **

**That being said, enjoy the chapter ;) **

* * *

~3~

At dawn, she has found her place at his side again, and just like last night, it's the first thing Raffe notices as he wakes up. They are on their sides, and like she seems to have subconsciously sought out his nearness, so has he hers, apparently. His arm is slung over her waist, his chin resting atop her head.

He vaguely remembers crawling back in bed with her – _god the sound of that _– but not back under the blanket. Instead, he stayed as far away from her as the small space allowed until he fell asleep.  
While she's still the only one under the blanket, he's most definitely not _as far away from her_ anymore as he was last night, when his rationality had finally caught up with him.

He doesn't allow himself the slip again, and without looking at her, he gets up and silently makes his way to the bathroom.

By the time he comes out again, she's just waking up, propping herself up on her elbows. She looks confused for a moment, looking around the bed, as if remembering his embrace and now wondering if she imagined it. She's adorably sleep-mussed, hair tangled and curly, eyelids heavy, cheeks slack.

Her eyes fall on him in the bathroom door (he remembered to bring fresh clothes with him this time). "Oh," she says. "Morning."

"Rise and shine," he offers with a half-smile.

She rolls her eyes, but her lips are curved upwards until she looks around. "Where is Paige?"

Raffe can hear her, just a few feet away from the cabin, sitting in the same spot as last night. "She's outside. I tried to call her inside last night, but she didn't respond to me."

He had called out to her several times, but had decided to leave her alone after she didn't react. He is sure that the last thing the little girl needs after everything she had to go through, is an angel that looks like a demon approaching her in the night.

She does react, however, as her sister calls out to her.

"Paige? Paige! Have you been out there the whole night? Baby, what –" her voice breaks off as she sees the blood. A look of understanding crosses her face.

She goes to sit beside her little sister and puts an arm around her, not minding the dried blood coating the girls hands.

Raffe decides to let the two of them have this moment for themselves. He goes to check on Beliel, but the bastard is still passed out and secured to the staircase.  
He tests the stove in the kitchen, and since it's still working, he heats up two cans of dried noodles for breakfast.

The cabin door opens, and the two sisters enter and quickly make their way to the bathroom.  
A moment later, Raffe hears the shower running.

His eyes fall on his wings, laying on the kitchen table, the ends hanging over the edge.  
They're dirty and covered in blood, lacking their usual blinding brightness.

Hot rage rolls over him, making his hands coil into tight fists. It's a feeling he's well acquainted with by now. Weeks of mourning, of hatred, have made him raw and brute on the inside. If Beliel dies, he will get off light. Raffe lost everything, _everything,_ because of him. His wings, his sword, his...

"Hmm, chicken flavor. My favorite."

Deeply in thoughts, he hasn't noticed her approaching. She leans against the counter and gives him a half-hearted attempt of a sarcastic smile. It doesn't reach her eyes.

"Everything alright with your sister?"

He takes the pot from the stove and fills two bowls with the instant noodles. Her lips press into a thin line and her eyes cast away.

"No." She takes one of the bowls from him. "A few month ago, she was a vegetarian. She couldn't stand the thought of an animal dying for her." A look of pain crosses her face for a second. "Now she has to kill them with her bare hands and eat their raw flesh in order not to starve."

She blinks rapidly, fighting with tears, and Raffe pretends to search the drawers for spoons. He knows that she doesn't want him to see her cry and he wants to give her a chance to compose herself, if she wants to. And she seems to, because when he turns back to her, her eyes look less glassy.

"We'll find someone who will revoke what's been done to her. And to me."

At his words, her eyes, too, travel to his wings and sympathy fills her face.

"I hope Beliel doesn't die," she whispers, almost to herself. "He doesn't deserve peace."

"I was thinking the same thing," Raffe responds, truthfully. Their eyes meet and Raffe feels the weight of this moment, the silent acknowledgement between them. No judgment for the darkest parts of their minds, the part that craves vengeance in their most desperate times, only understanding. And acceptance.

The memory of her seemingly dead body comes to his mind, the agony in her eyes before she went slack in his arms, and most distinct, her small form laying on the asphalt, pale and fragile, _lifeless_, and Raffe makes a silent promise to himself.

They will pay.

* * *

She has slayed a squirrel with his sword.

He lets the thought roll around in his head, indecisive whether he's upset, bemused, or incredulous. He has no idea how she managed to get his sword to do that for her. She must've taken a liking to this human girl.

She slayed a squirrel for her little sister and skinned it. It's not very well done, but it is done, and all Paige has to do is eat the now unrecognizable chunks of meat that her sister gave her.

"How the hell did you manage to persuade her to slay something as unworthy as a squirrel?"

"Unworthy?"

She looks up from washing the blood of her hands in the bathroom sink to where he's leaning against the doorframe.

"Yes, unworthy. She was made for ultimate respect and glory. Defeating evil in battle. Not for slaying innocent animals."

She grins at him. "She must like me more than you think, then."

"I wonder why that is."

She towels off her hands and leans against the sink, mimicking his pose.

"Must be my charming personality."

Raffe snorts. "You can be charming?"

"Well it's either that or my irresistible good-looks." She gives him a sunny smile.

"Where is Paige now?"

He wishes he hadn't asked, because the smile immediately fades. "She's outside. I think she doesn't want me to… to see."

She doesn't want her sister to see how she eats a bloody, raw piece of meat with her razor teeth and stitched up mouth. Raffe cannot begin to understand how anyone could do this to a helpless little girl. She's just a child. He's impressed that her psyche even manages to stay as intact as it is.

"We'll find a way."

"I know." There is gratitude in her eyes as she looks at him, and she seems to regain her strength.

He takes her hand and squeezes is gently, reassuringly.

And just like that, she slips into his arms.

She's small and warm and soft, so soft, and it's so different from when he's holding her while they're flying or when she's sleeping. The feel of her in his arms always stirs up a turmoil of emotions inside of him, but it's so much more intense when she's actively a part of it, when she's wrapping her arms around his middle and buries her face in his chest. He realizes that she never did this before, not like this, leaning against his strength, burrowing some of it. Allowing him to glimpse a moment of her weakness.

And he can't push her away.

His arms go around her almost on their own, a hand gently stroking her hair, while his head sinks onto her shoulder.

"I missed you so much," she whispers against his heart. "I thought I'd never see you again."

"So did I."

It is suddenly painful to speak. His throat feels dry and his voice sounds hoarse and rough like sandpaper.

Her fingers start tracing his back, following the folds of his shirt slowly.

He draws in a sharp breath at the feeling of her little fingers sliding over his back, and it comes with the scent of her, making him lightheaded. He wants more and he wants closer. And only when his lips brush her skin, on that sweet spot where her shoulder meets her delicate neck, does he realize that he has, in fact, leaned closer.

He feels a shudder run through her and has to suppress one of his own. His thoughts whirl out of control.

Raffe realizes that his lips still touch her skin, and that he should pull away _now_, but instead, his grip around her tightens. He tilts his head to the side and the motion makes his lips brush over her neck until they come to a rest on the spot just below her ear. Goosebumps erupt over her skin. Desire, so powerful that it nearly overwhelms him, curses through him.

She melts into his frame. He can feel her body against his, his hips pressed into her stomach, her breasts pliant against his ribs.

A low groan, almost inaudible, rumbles from deep within his throat and he presses his lips to her neck, kissing her. She tastes warm and snug somehow, like milk and honey.

A torrent of need rolls over him, and in the sudden onslaught he grabs her hips and pulls her closer, flush against him. He's pressed hard and insistent against the slope of her stomach, and the sudden contact sharpens the ache in his groin to a new height. She gasps as she feels it and his want sparks and coils.

This close, he can feel the erratic thrum of her pulse under his palms, _under his lips_, and he touches his tongue to the spot on her throat where her jugular vein throbs. Under his tongue, her pulse speeds up.

But for all the want, all the arousal that wrecks him at the moment, it is not until his name drops from her lips in a breathy, little whine, that he succumbs. The sound of it, the way she stretches the middle vowel ever so slightly, _Rah-fe_, snaps something inside of him, something that seemed to be responsible for his motion control, because his lips slip from her neck to her cheek all on their own. She tilts her head to the side automatically, as if she, too, is directed by some overpowering force, until their lips meet.

And there she is.

She's warm and sweet against his lips, and he stills for a moment, absorbing the sensation. In that moment, he almost seems to regain his self-control, before a now familiar hunger washes over him, heightened by a tenfold, and he surrenders to it.

If he thought their first kiss was desperate, this is nothing short of frantic.

Raffe remembers how he craved to memorize it all, the feel of her, and the taste, knowing that he would never experience it again, and how much more unbearable it made the yearning afterwards, like a starved man that got a bite of a delicious meal before having it taken away from him. Now that he knows what the loss of it feels like, he's all the more desperate to have it.

The first time was insistent lips and the tip of his tongue, darting against her lips, like the opening to Pandora's box. Now, his lips and tongue aren't insistent, they're imperative.

Groaning against her mouth, he opens her lips, his tongue pushing in greedily. He considers himself a great lover, a skilled lover, but with her he forgets all grace and experience. Her tongue shyly meets his and his pants tighten. He _needs_ this.

The part of his mind that isn't overrun by the sensations that her small mouth provides, is occupied with thinking about a place where he can pin her and take her. He vaguely registers that he has leaned her against the doorframe and is running his hands up and down her sides.

His fingers slip under the hem of her shirt, brushing over the bare skin of her hips. She writhes under his touch, and the friction makes him grit his teeth. He catches her lower lip in between his teeth and licks it, and she responds by nipping his tongue. He didn't know it was possible to be this turned on from just kissing. Her hands mimic his and slip under the fabric of his shirt.

Her fingers curiously brush over his abs, sending a surge of hard, sharp arousal from his groin through his body, and Raffe breaks off the kiss with a hiss.

She looks up at him in surprise, unsure if she's done anything wrong. Her eyes are big and doe-like as she studies him, taking in the unfamiliar sight of him winded and lustful. She looks beautiful and desirable with kissed-swollen lips and flustered cheeks and he wants to lean down and run his tongue over her full, red bottom lip, again.

Instead, he leans back as he slowly regains his bearings, realizing the position they're in. He leans against her, pressing her into the door frame with his body, her hands under his shirt, his having rucked up hers to her ribs. He pulls them away like he's burned himself and takes a step back.

She stiffens up and her face falls with rejection and embarrassment, the happy glow in her eyes fading to make room for a shut-down, hollow expression. He has seen that look before, and it's as painful as it was back then.

"I…," he breaks off, clearing his throat. His voice is thick and hoarse, laced with wanting.

He licks his lips. Bad idea. They taste like her, and a new wave of desire washes over him. He allows himself two seconds to regain control over himself.

Then, he speaks up again. "I shouldn't have done that. I wasn't…" _able to hold back? … in control? _"thinking."

She opens her mouth – her sweet, tempting mouth – to say something, but words appear to fail her. She seems completely shaken. Her own desire is written plainly across her face, from the blown-out pupils, to the way she bites her lips when she looks at him. She wants him, and that thought is enough to almost make him pounce on her again.

"I'll look for Paige," she rasps, turning away from him hastily. He doesn't look after her as he hears the entrance door falling shut.

Raffe leans back against the doorframe, the opposite one, not the one he pressed her against moments earlier, and runs a hand over his face.

He kicks the door shut angrily and leans forward on the sink, avoiding the look in the mirror. He doesn't need to see his blown pupils and mussed hair to remind himself of what he just did. He splashes cold water into his face to clear his head. It doesn't work. Not at all.

Looking down at the bulge in his pants, he decides a cold shower would be adequate. He doubts she will come back anytime soon, but there is no way he can face her like this.

He rips off his shirt and throws it carelessly on the ground. Pulls of boots and socks. He rucks his pants and underwear down, relieved to free his stiffness from the confining clothes, and steps under the shower.

He makes sure to turn the water as cold as possible, but his regulation system quickly adjusts, marring the effect. No cold water in the world could help him right now.  
Frustrated, Raffe tips his head down, letting the water spill over his hair and neck. He opens his wings as much as the shower stall allows and thinks about war, Uriel, scorpion-monsters, anything but _her_ and her goddamn lips.

Nothing helps.

Fine.

He'll take care of the problem himself. _Not_ thinking about her. It's not like he hasn't other women to think about. There are plenty of she-angels he did more with than just kiss. He recalls particularly outstanding experiences, memories he always regarded as especially erotic. But the images won't last. Her face pops up in his head again and again, and he's catching himself wondering what would've happened if he had pulled off her blanket back then at the beach house, how she might would've looked, all bare, in the dim light of the fire. He stops angrily, grunting in annoyance. So he can't even jerk off anymore without her messing with his mind?

He feels like slamming his fist through the wall. He needs some kind of release. He's way to close to a path that will lead to is downfall, if he can't control himself, and he won't be able to do that if he doesn't blow off some steam.

Of course, he has thought about her like this. He can't stop those thoughts from wandering into his. He never indulged in it, though. He never allowed himself to let it go that far. Nothing good comes that way. But he needs this now.

_Just this once. _

He closes his hand around his cock and begins slowly, letting disjointed fragments of memories and fantasies jumble in his head. He thinks about the way that damn dress at the old aery clung to her body, thinks about her smooth, pale thighs and her small, pert breasts. Then he thinks about the night at the beach house and lets that fantasy play out for a bit, her on her back and opening her legs for him, letting him _in_.

His hand speeds up and he braces the other one on the wall, leaning forward.

He recalls the way she says his name, altering it slightly to fit in with his fantasy, imagining her voice breathy, wanting. In his head, she is writhing and squirming underneath him, wrapping her legs around his waist and her arms around his shoulders to bring him closer, _deeper_. She rolls her hips up against him, nails digging into his back above his wing joints, as he thrusts into her, deep and hard. He wonders how it would feel to be inside her, deep home in her soft warmth.

He groans lowly in the back of his throat and the hand against the wall balls into a fist.

The more aroused he gets, the more freedom he allows his thoughts. The memory of her lips around her index finger – the _peanut butter accident_ as he has named it – pops up, and this time he lingers on it, relishing the image.

Soon, it's not her finger anymore. Her lips frame the head of his cock, cheeks hollowing as she sucks, her pretty face flustered as her eyes meet his.

"Fuck," he groans, his entire body tensing with pleasure. He tightens his hand around his cock, rolling his thumb over the tip. His wings twitch reflexively on his back, but he's too distracted to care. He's so hard it hurts.

In his head, her pink tongue darts out and licks the tip of his dick, before taking his length in her mouth again. He imagines her head bobbing back and forth, imagines stroking her hair back from her face and gathering it in one hand, guiding her motions.

The fantasy switches rapidly, and she's on her back again, this time on a bed, dark curls splaying on the bed sheets. He has no idea what the context of this scene is, where or what this bed is, but he honestly doesn't give a fuck.  
He's above her and inside her, and he runs his hands over her breasts, playing with one of her nipples, while he pushes himself into her.  
Her head tosses back on the bed, lips opening to release a gasp of his name, and her thighs start trembling as she comes for him.

Raffe draws in a sharp breath, his muscles clenching taunt and a jolt of ecstasy shoots down his spine. He is thrown over the edge abruptly, his teeth clashing as he forces back his sounds of pleasure. His orgasm washes over him almost violently, leaving him with ragged breathing and trembling muscles.  
_La petite mort_, he thinks, remembering the French calling. He finds it quite fitting.

He leans back against the shower wall, bat wings flush against the glass, and lets the water splash onto his body, his now super-sensible cock twitching as it runs over the tip. The water is freezing, but the cold doesn't register on his heated skin.

"Holy hell," he groans, his voice fading under the hiss of the shower.

_Holy hell indeed. _

He doesn't remember when he last had such an intense orgasm from a hand-job. He's never been this pent up, this turned on by one particular woman. And never by a Daughter of Man at all.  
He's had his fun, now he had to stop this before it got out of hand. He could not, would not, make a habit of it.

He wonders how long he took. Not too long, that much is sure – he was simply too pent up for extraordinary stamina - but probably longer than a normal shower would've taken.

He quickly washes the sweat off his body and steps out of the shower, toweling himself off. He throws his clothes back on and pulls his hand through his wet hair, checking himself in the mirror to make sure he looks sorted again.

He locks his desire into a vault inside his head, the place where he keeps all his forbidden thoughts and fantasies of never-can-be, and draws in a breath. It was time to face reality again.

She is fire and he would not burn.

* * *

**Oh my. This turned out smuttier than I intended. I blame the fact that Raffe is so unbearable hot.  
Anyway, I'm sure you don't mind ;)** **Took me some time to deliver, but it's a super long chapter, so I hope that somewhat makes up for it. I also changed the summary of this story (took out the 'mild' before the smut xD) **

**I'd like to say, thank you so much for your reviews! I'm very happy that you all seem to like this story so far, even though not much smut has happened yet. Until now. Anyway, I'm not done yet, so reviews are definitely keeping me motivated to write more. **

**This fandom needs smut. And fluff. Basically, we all need more Raffryn to fill the hole in our lifes until End of Days comes out (Have you guys read the excerpt? o.O) **

**See you next time ;) **

**.K **

**Edit: I received a very interesting review from Mondscheinsonate (cool name, btw) and I just HAD to respond immediately (so I hope you are reading this and if so, let me know)**

**First of all, let me start by saying that I absolutely despise this seperation of women into the categories 'Virgin' and 'Non-virgin'. As if there were this astronomical difference in those two "types". I think that being shy/curious/confident in bed has not necessarily something to do with how experienced you are. I agree that having experience, no matter how much, does not make you undesirable at all and by no means a 'slut'. I am not going for the "pure, untouched virgin meets big, experienced sex-god" thing with this story and I don't think that I wrote that in between the lines. When I use words like 'innocent' or 'cute' to describe Penryn, I don't mean innocent in a sexual way (like pure or untouched.. because that suggests that non-virgins are somewhat corrupted or 'filthy' and that is complete BS). I mean it as a contrast to what Raffe is used to (that being violent warrior angels with a huge kill count). Susan Ee herself stated in an interview that Raffe basically regards Penryn as an infant compared to himself.  
**

**I also don't regard Raffe as super duper experienced. I think he's had plenty more than humans (given he's so much older) but in comparison to angels, he might not be all that experienced, given that he's always on earth and everything. I do think however, that he's a very confident guy, as well - or maybe even especially - when it comes to sexuality. He's rather arrogant and aware of his own attractiveness and appeal to women, and I think that he is probably quite good in bed and knows it. **

**That being said, I _do_ think that Pen is actually a virgin. There are several scenes in the book that make it pretty clear. In Angelfall, when Raffe starts undressing in the car, she says that she has never seen a men undress before and it's only normal to be curious (so I doubt she's ever had sex or given head...) In the second book, she also gets all nervous and embarrassed when Raffe starts undressing (even though she knows he's not going to make a move on her or something, she's just intimidated by him being naked). After they kiss, she states that she has kissed boys before, but that was more like a nice, pleasant, small thing, while this passionate kiss (or make-out session whatever) was something she'd never experienced before. So, yeah, I do think she is a virgin. **

**Penryn might be a rather mature, confident, funny and outgoing personality, but I always felt like she was rather inexperienced. I think she's not all _that _shy, but rather curious, when it comes to kissing/touching etc. She states that herself after all in the first book ('it's only natural to be curious'). She's also unsure of where she's at with Raffe, which is why I think she'd be a lot more passive than he would be. **

**And when it comes to the fluffy vs. rough sex. I am not sure what type of peope Pen and Raffe are in bed. I think they have a really nice dynamic that could go either way. They'd probably like both, depending on the mood.  
I cannot promise you what type of sex their going to have in my story, or how far they'll go. I just write and see where they take me and what I'm feeling at that moment.  
What I can promise you is that you will not get a "sweet, untouched virgin is deflowered by the love of her life and has three orgasms during her first time" scene. **

**And if you want to read about them going at it like rabbits and are impatient/unsure if you're going to get that from this story, I suggest writing your own smut (and putting it on this site , because we all wanna read that!) ;) **


	4. 4

~4~

When Raffe enters the living room, she's gone. He hears her voice faintly outside, talking to her sister. In a way he's glad that he doesn't have to face her right now. He isn't sure how she feels about him after what happened. He knows that he hurt her. Again. But there is nothing he can do about it now.

He takes the stairs down into the basement to check on Beliel. The demon is still in the same position they left him in, motionless and unconscious. If Raffe didn't know better, he'd think the demon was dead. He feels the sudden urge to kick him in the face. Beliel is nothing but a useless, pathetic minion. He's the reason Raffe lost everything that mattered to him, and now he isn't even conscious to be interrogated. He should end his life right here and now.

But he doesn't.

Anger still bubbling under the surface, he climbs up the stairs into the living room, raking a hand through his hair. His emotions are boiling inside of him, mixing anger with lust, despair with longing. He has never been this uncertain in his life before. Everything used to be clearly laid out for him. He had his place among the others, a purpose, a reputation. Respected, admired, even feared. Now, he's an outcast, a rumor of former glory at best. The white wings hanging off the table are just the physical evidence of his losses.

He walks up to them, surveying them grimly. Beliel wasn't careful with them. Several feathers are crooked or broken, sticking out of the mass of white down. It's been some time since he's preened them. Now is as good a time as ever.

Raffe begins plucking out the broken once, hesitantly placing them on a growing pile, picking out grass and dirt and smoothing down the crooked feathers. It's a painful, slow process that takes half the time than it would if the wings were attached, since angels usually shake their wings out and thereby cleanse them. The wings that are currently attached to him, ugly, dark stretches of leather over thin metal bones, twitch on his back, as if his body is trying to move the feathers under his fingers.

Raffe doesn't know how much time has passed when the door opens and his two human companions enter the cabin. Paige walks right up to the couch and nearly collapses on it, not bothering to cover herself with the blanket.

Her sister follows behind her. Initially, Raffe feels the anger radiating off of her, but then her eyes fall on him, and her tense shoulders slump. He sees her hesitate in the corners of his eyes, before she walks over to Paige and carefully tucks her in, keeping her back to him.

He returns his attention to his wings. He is feeling one of those rare moments in which he doesn't know what to say. His back tingles, announcing her presence, and then she's beside him, watching his hands.

"What are you doing?"

Raffe wants to say something along the lines of 'exactly what it looks like', but he's so grateful for her normal voice and the opportunity to shed this awkward mood that has fallen upon them, that he bites back a sarcastic response. "I'm cleaning my wings. Beliel wasn't exactly gentle with them."

Even to his own ears, his voice sounds bitter and tight. She's silent for a long moment, her mouth opening and closing in indecision.

"Can I help?"

Raffe looks up at her, for the first time really meeting her eyes, and he's surprised by how easy it still is to look at her. After their, er, _episode_ in the bathroom, he expected more awkwardness from her side. Or anger. But she seems almost understanding, though there is still hurt flickering at the edges of her mouth and eyes. Somehow, that makes it even harder to distance himself from her. Anger he could deal with. Maybe even sadness, though tears would probably be hard to bear, but not this silent communication that seems to exist between them, this mutual understanding that he's felt so many times with her. Because it makes the whole thing seem even more right. She seems right. Equal.

And even though he should be repulsed by the idea of a human touching his wings, it just feels _right_, as well.

"Sure."

She nods. Her hand timidly reaches out and he forgets about the preening as he watches her fingers touch the white feathers, slowly brushing over their softness. She's touched his wings before, of course, _mangled_ them with a pair of scissors, but this is different. He peers up at her face. The tips of her cheeks are tinted in an ever so faint blush, and her expression is a mix between awkwardness and amazement.

Back in the old days, when angels used to visit earth on a more frequent basis, there had been multiple encounters with humans that had wanted to touch his wings. Humans have touched or come in contact with angel wings before, but it's still a rare thing for an angel to let a human touch them just for the sake of touching.

"Will they wither eventually, if we don't get them sewed back onto you?"

"Eventually, yes. We'll have to find a solution before that happens. I don't know the exact time frame we have, though."

She nods, smoothing over a crooked feather. "They're still so fluffy."

She pauses, as if only now realizing what just came out of her mouth, and sneaks a glance at him. "Err, I mean… not fluffy, in you know _cutesy_ or something. Just… soft."

Raffe chuckles. He begins to work again, and she eyes his hands, copying his motions carefully. Her touch is soft and gentle as she almost reluctantly plucks out a broken feather.  
They work in silence, only the sounds of their breathing filling the cabin. Raffe can't help but watch her as she works on his wing, eyebrows drawing together in concentration as she delves into the act. It's so cute. If she sticks her tongue out, he's going to burst out laughing.

He finishes the first wing before she's done with the one she's working on, so he moves closer to her to help. She jumps as their fingers brush and an electric tingle runs through him.

When they are finally done, she leans back, looking down at the now clean wings proudly. There is something almost loving about the way she smoothes her hand over the feathers one last time, before she takes a step back.

"Thanks," he says. "They look a lot better now."

"They're beautiful."

Something tightens in his chest. His breath hitches for a moment, and he forces his face into a neutral mask, but he's sure she sees the warmth in his eyes anyway. Her words send a surge of proud, triumphal euphoria through him.

"It's late", he says quietly.

"Yeah, it is. I'm pretty exhausted. Squirrel slaying is hard work, you know?"

He grins at her. "Why don't you sleep on the couch with Paige, I'm not too tired anyway. I'll go outside and scope out our surroundings."

She hesitates for a brief moment, looking like she wants to say something, or maybe like she's waiting for him to say something. But then she turns away.

* * *

She joins him hours later, as he sits near the surf, looking out over the dark water. Scoping out the surroundings was more an excuse to get out and clear his head during a flight over the trees. Once he was done, Raffe didn't feel like he could go back to the confined space of their cabin just yet, so he chose to stay out here.

She is wrapped in a blanket that is way too thin to protect her from the harsh October wind and she carries his sword on her hip, the disguised teddy bear hiding it almost completely.

"Done searching the surroundings?"

He doesn't respond, still looking out over the ocean. The waning moon throws a few milky drops of light on the black water, but that's all the light there is. He can see everything clearly, even in the dark, but he doubts that she can see much.

"I'm sorry, you know?"

Her head turns to him in surprise.

"I don't want to hurt you. I behave like an ass, acting without thinking and then pushing you away. You know that I don't want that. You know this is hard for me as well."

"Are you sorry for pushing me away or sorry for kissing me?"

He meets her eyes, intense and gleaming in the darkness. She's close. So close that he can make out each of her dark lashes as she blinks.

There are two answers to her question. The honest answer and the right answer.

"I'm sorry for kissing you." He sounds convincing enough, but her eyes ignite and he knows she sees right through him.

"I'm not, actually," she says, voice sharp. "I'm not sorry that you kissed me, or that I kissed you, or whatever. It might not be the _right _thing according to some stupid rules, but it definitely feels right to me."

He takes a deep breath and releases it slowly. "It wouldn't be so hard, if it didn't."

"This is ridiculous, Raffe. Kissing doesn't automatically lead to Nephilim, you are aware of that, right?"

"I can't believe we're having this conversation. There is no discussion on this matter. It can't-"

Her exasperated sigh interrupts him and then she leans forward and presses her lips to his, her arms crossed in front of her chest. The kiss isn't smoldering or passionate, it isn't even lustful. Her closed lips press against his defiantly, almost irritated, like she's daring him to pull away.

He allows it for a few seconds, before he puts a hand on her shoulder and pushes her back.

"You know, sexual harassment really isn't the answer. A man's no means no, even though I know that I'm hard to resist."

She huffs indignantly, her jaw tightening in annoyance.

"What is your problem, Raffe? What are you afraid of? I'm not asking you to jump my bones and knock me up, but there is no point in refraining from any physical contact whatsoever, if both of us clearly want it. There are… other things we can do. Or are you afraid that you're going to doom me, if you get involved with me that way? Because I'm pretty sure the hellions saw enough to piece it together by now, anyway."

A short moment of silence stretches between them as her words sink in.

"How," he starts slowly, eyes narrowing, "do you know about the hellions?"

Her eyes widen and he can practically hear her cursing at herself mentally.

"The what?"

Trying to play innocent. Yeah, he's not going to let her through with that. He rolls his eyes, impatience pulling his muscles taught. "The hellions. How do you know that they are chasing me? How do you know that you would be in danger because of that?"

Her eyes dart down to the teddy bear hanging from her hips. The answer dawns on him a second before she responds.

"Um, well, yeah. Your sword kind of showed it… to me?"

He glares at her. "What did she show you?"

"Don't be mad! It's not my fault. I wasn't stalking or anything! I didn't even know she could do that. I was attacked by those guys and I had her on me, but I didn't know how to use her and-"

"You were attacked by some guys? Why don't I know about this? What did they do to you? Did they harm you?" A hundred images run through his head, some of them his worst fears and nightmares.

"You know I can handle myself, Raffe. I'm fine, nothing happened. That's not the point here." She shakes her head, as if annoyed by the interruption. "As I was saying, I didn't know how to use her, and she, well, she didn't like that. So she showed me some memories of your fights to train me. And that's how I learned about the hellions."

He's working his jaw as he mulls over her words. No question that the sword is the reason why she's still alive, otherwise that angel with the burnt wings would've killed her on the first strike, and she had no other way to learn it, since he wasn't there to train her. But he isn't comfortable with the idea of her seeing some of his fights from the past. Especially since he has no idea what she saw. There are things that he doesn't want her to know.

"What exactly did she show you?"

She pulls anxiously on the teddy bear's ear, avoiding his eyes. "Nothing big. I don't know, usually just memories of some battles. Medieval villages, World War I, that kind of stuff. And um… she also showed me the memory of you getting your wings cut." Her voice turns soft at the last words and he thinks he hears the slightest tremor in it. "Not that I wanted to experience that. I mean, I didn't ask for it. I didn't mean to pry."

Raffe is silent for a long moment. He's still torn apart between feeling betrayed by his sword and being grateful that she passed on some knowledge to this human girl, so that she would have a better chance of surviving.

"That's it?"

His night vision allows him to see how the blood rushes into her cheeks and her hands squeeze the teddy bear harder.

"Umm, yeah, I guess. Overall."

Overall. Right. He's horrified by the possibilities of what she could've seen, what she could've heard. His sword takes on his thoughts and emotions. There are quite a few moments where he _definitely _doesn't want her to know what he was thinking. The first time he saw her in that dress at the old aery. He'd had his sword right there with him. Or the kiss. And worse, what's been running through his head afterwards.

"What more?" He presses the words out between his teeth.

She dares a glance up at him, her cheeks pink. If he wasn't so on edge, he'd be enrapt by how pretty she looks when she's blushing.

"Not much, really. I mean, I saw how the hellions sneaked up on us that night in the guesthouse, when you…" She catches herself. "After we escaped from the office building."

His back muscles tense. He remembers that night. It was the first time he started to realize that he was developing a soft spot for this entertaining, little human girl, and the first time he succumbed to it. The night he had watched her tremble and shiver in a bad dream, and the first time he hadn't been able to resist. He remembers it vividly, the comfort he drew from holding her warm, pliant body in his arms, and how good it had felt to stroke her hair and soothe her. He'd made a decision that night. Ever since then, they had been partners, if reluctant at first.

"But she just showed it to me. I mean, I didn't see it through your eyes or anything. I was just there. Watching it happen. It was really just about the fight anyway."

She's desperately trying to sound casual. He takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly.

"Alright. Well, it's a good thing then, I suppose. You had to learn how to use the sword anyway."

She nods. She seems relieved enough that he thinks she might has forgotten the initial point of their conversation.

"Okay," she says, and he knows they're right back at it. "Well, as you can see, the hellions know what's up anyway. You really think it makes a difference to them, if you don't touch me?"

It doesn't. He knows that. The moment he turns his back, the monsters will come and try to take her from him. The thought sends ice through his veins.

"We should go back inside."

She shakes her head, frowning. "We're not done here, Raffe." He matches her glare with an intimidating look of his own.

"There is no discussion about this. We're not-"

For the second time that night, she cuts him off, her lips angry and determined on his. Her ferocity surprises him. She grabs his hair and practically climbs on top of him, refusing to back off. His traitorous body answers to her, his pulse spiking in lust. His empty hands hover uncertainly in the hair, inches away from her waist. His first instinct had been to wrap his arms around her and pull her closer, and his body had reacted accordingly, before he'd caught himself. But it's a lot harder to stay reasonable when she's in his lap, her fingers fisting the hair at the nape of his neck and her lips pressing against his insistently again and again. He thinks it's all anger that has her tighten her grip on him and bite his lower lip, but then he tastes salt on his tongue and he becomes aware of the wetness on her cheek.

His mouth slip from hers to her cheek, tasting her tears, and he kisses her eyelids, wet lashes fluttering against his lips. "Don't cry," he murmurs against her temple. "Please don't cry."

In response, she captures his lips with hers again. He's forgetting everything he wanted to say. All his carefully laid out reasons why they should stay away from each other, it all gets muddled, when she kisses him like this. Why again was this forbidden?

His arms go around her and she sighs in relief, though the kiss doesn't lose its desperate edge. Raffe tilts his head, giving her better access, and brushes his hand up her back, cupping her neck and stroking her shoulder. Her mouth slips from his and she kisses up his neck. He groans as she tugs on his earlobe with her teeth.

Her blanket is puddled around her hips, so there is no hindrance for him to slip his hands under her shirt and smooth his fingertips over her soft skin. He wants to touch more of her, and he does, his fingers moving _up, up, up. _She gasps as he brushes over her rips.

Raffe stills. Over the pounding of the surf, only their panting can be heard in the night. She is completely still on his lap, not daring to move, but her heart beats rapidly against his fingertips.

He rests his forehead in the curve of her shoulder, his lips brushing her throat. His hands move up. She's been sleeping, so she isn't wearing a bra, and he groans as he carefully brushes his fingers over her soft skin. He cups her breasts gently, palming the soft flesh. She wriggles under his hands and grabs her rucked up shirt, pulling it over her head and off.

He pulls his head back and looks at her. Archangel or not, he's a man, and he has fantasized about this too often. He shouldn't stare, but he can't help himself. The sight of her is surreal, disheveled and shirtless on his lap, and he wonders if he's dreaming this whole thing.

The moonlight tints her skin a milky color, her breasts - small and pert and _perfect_ \- slightly paler than the rest of her body. She's so beautiful that it almost hurts to look at her.

Raffe touches the delicate line of her clavicle, tracing it until his palm rests on her sternum. He kisses her breasts, circling one sensitive little peak until she is squirming against him. He shifts them so that she is on her back and he is hovering above her. He feels hazy as he flicks his tongue over her nipple, then kisses a path to the valley of her breasts. She chuckles as he nuzzles her softly.

Later, he will think back and try to remember when his shirt came off, or how her pants disappeared, the details lost to more important memories, like her fingernails digging into his back, or the moan she lets out against his ear as he gently bites her throat.

All he knows is that he at one point ends up with his fingers brushing the elastics of her panties, drawing a gasp from her.

Raffe pulls his head back and meets her eyes. She is mussed and flustered from his kisses, her erratic panting matching his. Desire fogs his brain, drowning out the voice of reason, and his hand slip under the fabric. She exhales shakily as his fingers travel lower, and he closes his eyes, focusing on the feeling of her soft skin. His muscles tense, his entire body coiled tight as a spring, as he desperately fights for some self-control. Her breathy little sighs do nothing to ease the turmoil raging inside of him.

He explores her with slow, careful movements, pressing a kiss to her cheek. He wants her so badly in this moments that if an entire legion of hostiles came down on them now, he wouldn't be able to stop. He moves his hand faster, and she grips his shoulders, pulling him closer.

Raffe kisses her hungrily, his fingers moving over her slick folds, and she moans into his mouth, sweet and needy. He breaks away from the kiss and pulls his hand away, her whimper of protest making his cock twitch in his pants.

"Don't st-" her voice cuts off as he tugs on her underwear. She wasn't expecting that, but she arches her back – impatient and very sexy – to help him get them off.

And then she's completely naked. They still at the same time, the weight of the moment sinking in. Her pale body looks otherworldly beautiful sprawled on the dark sand, her tousled hair fanning out around her head, lips swollen and red. Raffe grips her hips and squeezes, because he just needs to hold onto something for a moment to ground himself.

He gently slides his hands up her thighs, and she opens her legs for him without hesitation. Their eyes meet and hers are full of trust and longing. He kisses her belly, feeling it twitch under his lips, and moves lower, easing her thighs further apart with his shoulders.

"Raffe," she breathes out as he presses his lips to her core, kissing her gently. Hearing her say his name like _that_ is a thousand times better than he ever could have imagined it. He gives her an experimental swipe with his tongue and she squirms, one hand grabbing his hair. He holds her hips down to keep her still and gently drags his tongue over her clit. The hand in his hair tightens and her thighs twitch. He hums against her in approval and lifts his eyes to watch her squirm on the sand. It's the most erotic thing he has ever seen.

He releases her hips to touch her under his mouth, rubbing his fingers against her, before slowly slipping one inside her. _Careful now..._

She's tight as a glove and so soft that it nearly undoes him. She's slick enough for him to gently slide his finger deeper, though nowhere wet enough for anything more. He groans against her slick skin, circling her clit with his tongue. She is getting restless, her hips rolling against him, her hands moving from his hair to his shoulder to his neck, unable to decide where to touch him. He, on the other side, is slow and insistent, a rock to her crashing waves, though on the inside, he is just as frantic as her.

"Don't stop," she begs, almost sobbing, as if she's afraid that he's going to push her away again. He makes a reassuring sound and laves his tongue over her clit, pumping his finger slowly. His other hand rests on her belly, stroking her skin in slow circles. She grips that hand with her own and squeezes, then traces the sinew on his arms.

"Raffe," she pants, almost inaudible, and then again, "Raffe."

He slides his hand up and palms her breast, groaning at the feel of the soft flesh under his fingers.  
She's getting wetter around his finger now, so he very carefully adds a second one, drawing a moan from her. Her breathing is hard and shallow now, and he can tell from the way that her muscles clench that she's close.

He speeds up and pumps his fingers faster, answering her whines with a groan of his own. She jolts suddenly, her back arching off the sand. Raffe watches her with hungry eyes, drinking in the sight of her. A fine sheet of sweat covers her body, making her skin glisten in the dim light. Her lips are parted in a choked cry, her belly twitching. The sight of her, the _feel_ of her, fluttering around his fingers, is almost enough to bring him over the edge as well. He's never wanted anything more in his life than he wants her in this moment. She's just so fucking beautiful, so unbelievably sexy.

She chokes out his name, sinking back on the sand. She's still clamping rhythmically around his fingers, so he keeps flicking his tongue over her slowly for a few more moments. When he pulls away, she's trembling, her chest rising and falling in rapid breaths. Raffe takes a moment to admire his handiwork, running his eyes over her flustered form. He presses his lips to her throat and swipes his tongue against her skin, tasting salt. He covers her body with his and opens his wings, trapping their body heat between them to make sure that she doesn't get cold.

A weird mood has set over them, something akin to relief, but more accepting, final. As if the dam has finally broken. They crossed a line tonight, went a place they can never come back from, but instead of regret, there is only a feeling of freedom, of release. No point in pushing the other away now.

Her earlier words echo in his head. _Other things_…

Raffe presses his lips on her forehead in a sweet, lingering kiss and feels her shudder against him. And for the first time, he allows his feelings to be. Allows himself to have what he wants most, if only for this moment.

He buries his face in her hair and inhales deeply.

_Penryn. _

* * *

**Alright, here we are. Thank you for bearing with me with this chapter, I know it took a bit long (oh wait, you had no choice! Well, if you are still there, thank you anyway)  
**

**Thank you so much for your reviews guys, they are my motivation to keep going (apart from the fun of writing Raffryn). Again, Mondscheinsonate, if you haven't seen it yet, I answered your review on the last chapter, since I thought it brought up some interesting things to talk about. Oh, and HauntedGirl, I think I am in love with your comment about how Raffe would be in bed. Is there a way I can convince you to write that out a bit more? Say like, quid pro quo, style? You write that out, I will write something for you. I mean, this fandom needs more Raffryn smut! But, yeah, I completely agree with everything you said about how he would be in bed. (If you guys have any thoughts about this, please put them in the reviews as well, I LOVE reading about how Raffe could be in bed, heh heh... Er, am I too shameless?)  
**

**Hope you enjoyed!**

**~K. **


	5. 5

**It's been some time. I know it has, but for the past two and a half month, I was on a different continent and had almost no time to spend on a computer, so it was really difficult for me to write. I also couldn't read EoD in that time (which I now have. Finally *.*) . I wrote the majority of this chapter before EoD was released, in the desperate hope to get it out before the book, but well... that turned out impossible. Anyway, now that I'm back home I finally read EoD and finished the last bit of this chapter.  
Since it was written without having read EoD, it is of course completely spoiler free. Also note that at the time I wrote this, I imagined Raffe wearing underwear, but as it turns out in EoD, angels don't do that :D  
Nevermind, I hope you enjoy this chapter (if there is still someone around to read it). Warning for mature content and quite a bit of steaminess** **;) **

* * *

~5~

They make their way back to their condo in silence. Penryn is wrapped in the blanket and Raffe keeps an arm around her waist, tucking her against him.

Inside, Paige is asleep on the couch. Raffe gently shoves Penryn next to her, not wanting to argue over who gets the couch. After what happened at the beach, he's too agitated to sleep anyway. Penryn curls into the blanket, her eyelids already drooping. He tucks hair back from her face and watches as her breathing evens out. She looks a lot more content and sound than she did the nights before.

Raffe exhales forcefully and runs a hand over his face. He spent the majority of the night outside, but he feels like a few more hours out in the cold air will do him good. He silently slips out of the door. Outside, he looks over to the shore, at the spot where they lay, where they lost themselves in each other, and his heartbeat spikes. His hands still itch with the feel of her skin, her warmth, and he can still taste her when he licks his lips. Yeah, he needs a few more hours in the cold wind to calm himself.

With a sigh he spreads his leather wings and takes off.

"I think she's starting to get used to it."

Raffe turns his head to where Penryn is sitting on the window sill, looking outside thoughtfully. Her lower lip is red from biting and lines of worry are etched between her eyebrows. It's an oddly hot day for October and she's wearing a flowy skirt and top, swinging her bare legs absentmindedly. Her skirt has ridden up slightly and his eyes stay on the exposed skin of her mid-thigh for a moment.

He walks over to her and looks outside.

"Where is she?"

"In the woods, I think. She doesn't want me to join or help her anymore." Penryn looks up at him, her eyes swirling with sadness. "I guess she thinks I'm disgusted by her. And why wouldn't she? I treated her like a monster." Her voice cracks at the end.

"Hey," he murmurs and catches her chin in his hand. "Don't be so hard on yourself. It's okay to be weak sometimes. Paige is different now and you couldn't handle it. Now you can. You're _so_ strong, Penryn. And Paige loves you for it. You will get through this, both of you."

Penryn gives him a small smile and puts her hand on his cheek. Raffe has to hold back from leaning into her touch. "When did you get so wise?"

He grins. "That's just how I am. A wise, old man."

She smiles at him. "There you are."

"What?"

"The guy I came to know on the streets. All smirks and arrogance and corny jokes. Lately you always seem so grim."

Actually, he's a ray of sunshine compared to how he was after her 'death'. He's glad she didn't see him then. It was a pretty dark time for him. A lifespan close to eternity doesn't protect you from the pain of true loss. And that night at the aery he had lost _everything._

"The last weeks were pretty rough."

Her eyes are so sad that he almost thinks she understands, even though she can't. And he's glad she can't, because there is no way a seventeen year old girl should know what that kind of pain feels like.

"Raffe, I…" she falters, as if she's changing her mind about what she wants to say. "I can't begin to understand how it must be for you. I'm just… I'm sorry. But it's not all lost. We have your wings, and your sword. The rest is just logistics."

She takes his hands in her smaller ones and tugs him closer, wrapping her arms around his middle. He rests his cheek against her hair and concentrates on her warmth. "We're a team," she whispers into his chest. He reciprocates her hug, gently cradling her against him with his arms around her shoulders and waist.

"We are," he agrees quietly.

For a long time they stand there, holding each other and relishing in each other's warmth, forgetting the terrors of the world around them. He closes his eyes and feels her hair tickle his cheek, her face resting in the crook of his neck, warm skin on skin. He kisses her temple and holds her closer.

"Hey, Raffe?"

"Hmm?"

She pulls her head back and looks up at him, her dark eyes glinting. "Are you going to behave like an idiot and push me away again if I kiss you now?"

He grins at her, both hands slipping down to grasp her waist. "Try me."

"Because I _will _hurt you if you do. Some people just need the sense beaten into their heads."

He can't help but laugh at that. "Is that a threat?"

"Consider it a warning."

Before she can make true of her word, he leans down and presses his lips against hers hungrily, groaning into her mouth at her surprised gasp. She quickly catches on, coming alive under his mouth and hands. She wraps her arms around his neck, hands gripping his hair as her lips open. He squeezes her sides, tugging her forward on the window sill so that he is in between her legs, chests pressed together.

Her hands slip to his arms, squeezing his biceps, and she sighs into the kiss, drawing him closer with her legs. Raffe tries not to think about how the window sill has the perfect height, how she's in just the right position, her legs already on either side of his hips.

He kisses up her throat, sucking on the pale skin under her jaw and she tilts her head to the side eagerly, baring more of her neck to him. He takes this as a sign to continue.

She draws her arms around him and lets her hands travel down his back, following the fabric until she reaches the hem of his shirt. She slips her hands underneath it, fingers splaying over the skin of his lower back. Her fingers travel up, tracing his muscles. She's so enthusiastic, so curious, and it sets him on fire. He presses closer against her, his hips cutting into hers, letting her feel what she's doing to him. But it's okay, he tells himself. There's still layers upon layers of clothing separating them. She gasps and he bites her neck softly, laving his tongue over the mark to soothe it.

Penryn runs her nails lightly over the skin of his back, trailing upwards until she meets the sensitive skin around his wing joints. Her touch is fleeting, careful, but it's enough to make his wings twitch pleasantly. Goosebumps erupt over his back and his hands tighten on her hips, bunching the fabric of her top in his palms.

Then her hands are gone, instead grabbing the hem of his shirt and rucking it up impatiently. "How does this thing go off?" she pants. "How did it even go _on_ with your wings?"

He laughs and pops open the top buttons of her own shirt, baring more skin to his eyes. "Slits in the back."

"Oh. Should've figured that one out on my own."

He grabs his shirt and pulls it off, maneuvering his wings through the slits. This was a lot easier when his wings were made of feathers instead of a rigid bone skeleton.

Small, skittish fingers touch his abs before he fully has his shirt off, making his stomach roll in surprise and his loins throb. He throws his shirt on the floor and lowers his eyes to her again. Her cheeks are tinted a notable shade pinker as she explores his torso. She seems a lot more flustered by tracing the ridges of his ab muscles than she was when she felt his back up under his shirt. Her fingers are light on his skin, sending tingling spikes of excitement through his body.

He tries to keep as still as he can, fighting the urge to push closer to her and soothe the ache in his groin for a moment. They're so close that he can smell the faint scent of the shampoo she used this morning, a light, citrusy aroma that mixes with her natural scent. He leans closer and inhales deeply, trying to ground himself as she follows the path of hair running from below his navel until it disappears behind the waistband of his pants. Okay, either he distracts her from where her hand is currently going, or this thing will go out of hand _very soon. _

Raffe unbuttons her shirt from the top until the dark blue material of her bra is peeking out, exposing the tantalizing swell of her breasts. He nips the spot between her clavicles and trails downward from there, placing little openmouthed kisses on the soft skin of her cleavage. Her hands still on his belt and her chest rises as she takes in a shuddering breath.

She lets out a soft sigh, much to his delight, but the wet kisses he plants on the top of her breasts don't distract her as much as they seem to animate her to continue her explorations. She's becoming bolder as her breathing gets harder, her hands tightening on his belt and tucking him closer.

Raffe catches her hands just as they are about to dive lower, and laces his fingers with hers. It's not that he doesn't _like_ to have her hands where she just wanted to put them; in fact, he would like that very much. But he needs to stay in control of himself.

And Penryn can be persistent when she has her mind set to something. He's not sure he has the willpower to resist her enthusiasm, so he quickly distracts her by making a headway under her skirt, his fingers brushing against the damp material of her panties. _That _gets her attention. She moans as he presses more firmly against her, moving his fingers in circles.

He keeps going until her breathing has turned into pants, before he slips his fingers under her panties, drawing a sharp gasp from her. She's warm and slick already and it turns him on so much to touch her like this.  
He must've done something she particularly likes, because she bucks against his hand suddenly and squeaks, her back arching slightly. He pulls his head back. He wants to look at her, wants to see the face that goes with the sexy little sounds she emits. His own breathing is hard and labored and his pants are way too tight now. She's quite the sight when she's so turned on, even more beautiful than normal and harder to resist by the second.

He twists his hand and puts his thumb to her clit, rubbing against it with modest pressure while he slowly pushes his index finger inside her. He's met with soft, smooth heat and delicious wetness, eliciting a groan of his own. God, he wants to be inside her so badly.

Raffe is so turned on now that he doesn't protest as she slides her hands down his front again, pausing shortly on his belt before travelling lower to rest on the prominent bulge in his pants. The tentative brush of her hand is hardly noticeable through the firm fabric of his cargo pants, but the slight pressure is enough to drive him absolutely crazy. She's getting him so hard and she's barely even touching him.

He presses a breathless kiss to her lips and she responds eagerly, nipping and sucking on his tongue. She presses harder against him through his pants and he bucks against her like a teenage boy and groans. He manages to pull her hand away and shakes his head curtly, hoping she will get his meaning.

"Raffe." Her tone is almost chiding, impatient.

"No. We're not going there."

She almost whines, hooking her fingers in his belt loops and pulling him closer. "So you're allowed to touch me like that, but I can't do the same with you?"

"Things will go out of control." His eyes meet hers and he squeezes her hips. "This is all there can be."

She furrows her brow, looking upset at first, but then she lowers her eyes almost sheepishly.

"Raffe…," she starts, her voice trailing off like she isn't sure if she wants to say what's on her mind. Instead of going on, she stretches up and nips on his bottom lip. He groans and puts his mouth to her throat, assaulting her sensitive skin with his lips, teeth and tongue.

"Raffe," she tries again, and he knows that there is something going on in that pretty head of hers. He keeps going, hoping to distract her from whatever temptation she is thinking up right now. "You know about protection right? Condoms? Are angels familiar with that fascinating piece of science?"

Her voice is teasing, with a hint of hopefulness. Her fingers disappear from his belt loop and pop open the button of his pants.

"I do. I've been around when those things were invented," he manages to get out while the rest of him is focused on her hands that are dangerously close to his throbbing erection. She pulls down his zipper and he growls against her ear warningly, but she is unfazed. She knows that if he really wanted to stop her, he could do so by simply stepping back and ending this whole madness right here. It's what he should do. And he wants to have the strength to do it, but it's so difficult when they already crossed a line, when they already fucked up big time anyway. Down, down the road they went, and there is pretty much no turning back. In a way, he has known it after the first time they kissed, has known that he wouldn't be able to resist forever. _No one can hold back forever…_

"So we can use that," she murmurs against his temple and her fingers skitter over him, the fabric of his underwear the only barrier. He sucks in a sharp breath and presses his face into her throat, fighting the need that courses through him. "You said it yourself, anything that doesn't lead to Nephilim is a gray zone."

"What does it matter? I don't suppose you brought a pack with you?" His voice is tight and hoarse and it seems to embolden her, because she slips her hand further down, wedged between the confines of his half-unzipped pants and his boxershorts.

He doesn't know where her sudden boldness comes from and his brain is currently lacking the blood supply it needs to form a coherent thought. He's aching with his need for her, a deep, primeval voice that pounds through him with every breath he takes. She seems to have wakened his inner caveman, a part of him no longer thinking in full sentences, just fragments of _want, need, take, now. _

"Err… no, but I may or may not have seen a pack in the bathroom. I think… maybe. Probably." She is out of breath, but he's still able to hear the embarrassment in her voice and feel the heat that creeps up her neck. She's practically holding her breath, waiting for his response. He pulls his head back a bit and looks at her. She's flustered and blushing furiously, but her eyes are expectant and determined.

Okay, he has to say something. Here is his chance to tell her all the reasons why they cannot do this.

He says the intelligent thing and grunts "Huh?"

"Come on, it's a remote cabin clearly laid out for two people. What do you think the previous owners did in here?"

Her hand in his pants is distracting him from thinking of a good retort. He's trying to clear his head, but she tentatively cups the bulge in his underwear and squeezes, and that's the end of his futile attempts.

His head sinks down on her shoulder with a groan. He shoves the strap of her top and bra down her shoulder, exposing the curve of her neck and sinks his teeth into the junction of her neck. He pushes her shirt further down and follows the exposed skin with his lips down to the swell of her right breast. He cups her through her shirt and bra and greedily sucks on the soft flesh, pushing her back with his body weight until she leans against the glass of the window, legs still wrapped loosely around him, one hand in his pants, rubbing him softly. Why exactly is she still wearing so much clothes?

Raffe grabs the hem of her skirt and pushes it up, his knuckles brushing over the babysoft skin of her naked thigh. He yanks the collar of her shirt down and the buttons pop open as he pulls down the fabric and one cup of her bra, freeing one mound of pale, creamy skin to his eyes. He palms the supple flesh, feeling her nipple harden in his hand, and squeezes gently. She whines lightly at his touch. His lips crash against hers and he grabs her hair with his free hand, tugging her head back.

When he pulls back and meets her eyes, Penryn is out of breath and flustered, looking baffled at his sudden lack of self-control. It's a pretty great view, her shirt half torn down, her skirt pushed up to her waist, and it makes him want to just grab her and take her like this. She's still wearing too many clothes, though.

"Lift your arms," he rasps impatiently. Her eyebrows rise, but she obeys without hesitation and he pulls her shirt up and off. She unclasps her bra and lets it fall to the floor. She nips on the skin below his adam's apple and trails lower, pressing kisses to his chest. He brushes his hand down her naked back, to the curve of her rear, before grabbing her under her thighs and pulling her to the edge of the window sill and against him. The feeling of their naked chests pressing together as he leans his weight into her is absolutely delicious and they both moan at the contact. They're touching everywhere. Raffe pushes his hips against her and she exhales shakily at the contact and claws into his arms, pulling him closer.

He leans down to kiss her hungrily and she rolls her hips against him, seeking more friction. They move against each other without thinking, trying to get closer, to relieve at least some of the throbbing need that has them panting and moaning into each other's mouth.

Raffe pulls back his head. "Where are the condoms?"

Penryn stares at him for a moment, then she pushes him back and jumps off the sill. "I'll get them."  
She rushes into the bathroom. Raffe is left confused and breathless from the sudden loss of body contact. He rakes his hand through his hair. It's alright, he can handle a few moments without touching her. Yeah, that's totally not a problem.

Penryn is back and practically jumps into his arms, wrapping her arms around his neck and pressing her lips against his. Raffe picks her up and against him and the friction between their bodies is back.  
He turns them around and stumbles to the heavy wool carpet in front of the fireplace. He kneels down and places Penryn on the soft fur material. She looks up at him, her hair fanning out behind her head, and he drinks her in as she reaches up and strokes the muscles of his torso. Her hands follow the lines of his front all the way down to his still open pants. She hesitates, then tugs on his pants. His breathing speeds up as he helps her ruck his pants down.

Penryn lifts her hips and pulls off her skirt. They are both in their underwear now, just a slim barrier of clothes separating them, and the temperature in the room seems to rise to a smoldering heat.

"Will you push me away again?" she asks.

"Never."

Her hands tug on his underwear, tentative at first and then determined, and before he can utter a sound of surprise (of protest, his rational brain tries to say) she pulls his them down. Penryn props herself up on her elbows and looks at him with flaming cheeks. She looks like she doesn't know where to look. Raffe decides to help her out and kisses her deeply, his arms snaking around her. His body is overrun by sensations, by the feel of the slender planes of her shoulder blades under his hands, the hot press of her mouth on his. Her body is soft in all the places he is hard, and it feels so good to be pressed flush against her, damp skin against skin.

He almost loses his mind when his cock touches her soft, flat belly. But it's nothing compared to how it feels when she reaches between them and skitters her fingers over his length.

"God," he chokes out as she wraps her hand around his shaft, watching his reactions.

"Am I… you need to tell me if I'm doing something wrong!" She sounds breathless and vaguely embarrassed.

"You're not doing anything _wrong_."

He tugs on her lower lip with his teeth and then licks it to sooth it, before his mouth works his way down her jaw to her neck. He is sucking and kissing her skin, his breathing hard and ragged, his movements almost sloppy. She explores him with a mix of curiosity and shyness, but there is an urgency behind it as well, a need that he notices in the way her other arm wraps around his shoulder and pulls him closer and the way her breathing speeds up against his ear. Her fingers are so small, so unfamiliar on his skin. She rolls her thumb over the tip and he pulls her hand away before he goes insane.

"Condom," he manages to get out and she nods and reaches for her skirt. She holds out a thin foil package. He rips it open with his teeth and looks at the latex. He remembers his amusement over humanity's need to be able to have sex without producing children and the ridiculous things they tried to use as protection well back in the 18th century. He never imagined himself needing one, as She-angels had become infertile eons ago, but here he was.

Penryn watches him slide the latex over his cock with a curiosity that makes him throb with need. When her eyes meet his, there is an intensity in her gaze that he's never seen before.

He leans down and presses his mouth to hers in a deep, hungry kiss. He strokes her hair. Slides her panties down her legs. Penryn's breath stutters as he reaches down to touch her. She's warm and slick for him, but he still kisses down her belly and pulls her thighs apart, baring her for his mouth. He presses his lips to her center and groans in sync with her. There is something about eating her out that gets him to switch from heavily aroused to uncontrollably horny.

He is less teasing now, circling her clit with his tongue and rubbing his fingers against her, and she is squirming and whining for him in no time. He lifts his eyes to watch her and gives her clit a particularly bold suck, quite pleased with himself at her little cry of pleasure.

"Raffe!" she gasps and he is rock hard. He lifts himself up and she pulls him down on her in a frenzy, kissing him deeply, wildly. He sits up and grasps his cock, his eyes meeting hers.

He has the impulse to ask her if she's sure, but he holds back. Penryn would never let him do anything that she doesn't want. Still, he feels that he should check that she's sure about this before this goes on. She looks at him and understands. She nods.

"Yes," she breathes. He strokes her cheek and she kisses his palm and opens her legs for him. He almost shudders from the pure eroticism of this moment.

He wants this so badly it hurts.

Raffe aligns himself with her, nuzzling the head of his cock over her wet entrance. He groans. Goddamnit, he's not even in yet and it already feels so fucking good.

Then he pushes in. Penryn seems to still completely beneath him, and her eyelids flutter shut. He tries to be as gentle as possible over the roaring of blood in his ears, watching her reactions as he slowly, slowly, slides deep home. He's surrounded by her softness, hot and wet and tight, and it feels so good it knocks the wind out of him. He leans down, almost falling over her, catching himself on his elbows, and Penryn's arms go around him again immediately. He holds still, not daring to move, but he doesn't trust his voice to speak.

"Yes," she says again. Yes to a question he hasn't asked.

He presses his forehead against hers and she touches her lips to his. They share a sweet, chaste kiss, and then Penryn shifts her hips and they both moan simultaneously. He begins to move slowly, pulling out a few inches before pushing back in. It takes a few careful thrusts until he settles on a slow, deep rhythm.

It's bliss.

Pure, white hot bliss.

He feels some of the tension ease out of Penryn's legs and arms, and she melts against him, wrapping her thighs around his hips, before a new kind of tension makes her muscles coil. Her breathing speeds up, though it's nowhere as ragged as his. Raffe cups her breasts and molds the soft flesh in his hands, and she arches into his touch.

He picks up the pace slightly and a groan rumbles from deep within his throat. All the time he forbid himself even the thought of her. It seems ludicrous now. This isn't a sin. It feels more right than anything he's ever done in his life.

"Penryn," he groans against her ear and she responds by holding him tighter and rolling her hips up against him. She nods and he feels the movement against his cheek, her soft hair brushing his skin.

Her fingers glide over his back, his skin damp with sweat, and she tentatively touches his wing joints. His wings twitch and shift reflexively and goosebumps erupt over his back. He moans breathlessly and buries his face in her throat. She presses a kiss to his shoulder and his muscles tense and coil as the pressure builds in the pit of his stomach.

Penryn digs her short nails into his arms and draws her legs tighter around him, bringing him deeper, her hips rolling up to meet his thrusts. The mood has changed between them. This is no longer the slow, careful dance of a first time. There is an urgency in the way their bodies rock against each other, something needy, almost desperate in the passionate, deep kisses that they share. They are both too pent-up, to frenzied to have the other to be able to fully control themselves. Her hands grip his damp hair and she sinks her teeth into his neck, then drags her tongue over the lovebite to soothe it.

He's so close. So fucking close.

"Penryn," he breathes, clutching her upper arms, "Penryn, I-"

He thrusts his hips against hers and her breath hitches. He does it again, once, twice, three times, and she moans out, the sound sweet and breathy and high. He pulls his head back to look at her, her bare body sprawled on the sheets beneath him, her eyes closed, her lips red and swollen from kissing. He can't hold on any longer. He catches her lips in a sloppy kiss, groaning and grunting into her mouth and electricity zips through his body, crashing a wave of ecstasy over him. His muscles coil, his entire body pulling taut, his wings spreading forcefully behind his back. She's right there for him and holds onto him, matching his groan with a gasp of her own.

He sinks onto her, his mind still reeling, his wings twitching rhythmically, his muscles shaking. He is completely spend. They sprawl together on the sheets, limbs tangled and damp, heated skin against skin. The air smells like sex and sweatand _her_ and it makes him lightheaded. He is running on sensation, his body tingling everywhere they're touching. He stays on top of her and inside her until he has caught his breath and feels like he can move again. Then he carefully pulls away from her and rolls to the side, facing her. She is still laying on her back, her legs splayed open slightly, her chest rising and falling. He reaches out and caresses a strand of hair out of her face that stuck to her forehead. She turns her face to him and smiles breathlessly.

Now, with the sweat drying on their bodies and their rational minds slowly catching up with them, it should be time for the guilt and regret to come rushing at them, but that doesn't happen. Raffe feels as free and light as he never has before. Judging from the sparkle in her eyes, Penryn does too.

She rolls onto her side as well to face him and he throws an arm around her waist and pulls her close, their legs intertwining. She props herself up on her elbow and presses a kiss to his shoulder.

"Hey, Raffe?"

"Hmm?"

She looks up at him and grins. "I'm really glad there were condoms in the bathroom."

He laughs and pecks her on the tip of the nose. "I guess this makes you a seductress."

Her expression turns stern. "Do you regret it?"

"Never," he says and he means it. Their eyes lock and something passes between them. Penryn leans in and her warm, soft lips press against his.

"You're the best thing that ever happened to me," he whispers and his arms tighten around her. "I will never regret falling in love with you, my brave, little soldier."

He feels the surprise radiating off of her and he leans down to kiss her forehead.

"You're my kind of girl, Penryn. You are _my_ girl. My Daughter of Man."

_The end_

* * *

**So there we are. Please let me know what you are thinking and if you are interested in more. I am playing with the idea of writing some sinful little pieces about our two lovebirds. I'd be interested to further investigate what their sex life could look like ;) Let me know what you think about that and if you are interested in anything in particular! If the interest is there, I'll write some more. **

**Thank you so much for reading and especially for everyone that gave me feedback and reviews! Every review means the world to me and it really is the greatest motivation to keep posting fanfictions.**

**PS: There are, btw, more Raffryn oneshots on my Tumblr, which is linked on my profile page. **


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